Christian Walker and the Old Man of the Lake
by TheJoyfulWalker
Summary: In Mazama Academy, the western American school of magic, more lurks in the halls than just students and faculty... But what does a sudden rise in terrorist attacks on the U.S. have to do with anything? New student, Christian Walker, is about to learn...


Not for the first time in less than a year, all was almost silent in a usually bustling city. Traffic, music, people walking on the streets… All the sounds of a usual evening over a year ago were gone. In the distance a few sirens could be heard wailing their mournful song. People were still around, most quiet, a few sobbing. A fire engine, once bright red, but now coated with a thick layer of grey dust, was parked haphazardly on a crumbling sidewalk. The twisted ruins of one of the city's taller skyscrapers rose up behind it, ghostly amongst the spotlights and grimy air.

Rescue workers were scurrying amongst the rubble, despite the chimes of some distant, electronic bell ringing three o'clock in the morning. Body after body was removed from the wreckage. A now empty clothing store had been changed to a makeshift morgue. It was already filled to the doorways and windows. The muffled cries of trapped survivors were hearable by anyone who paused long enough to listen. Two fire fighters out of many were frantically searching amongst the ruins. Someone pointed out to a late news anchor women that they'd been at it the moment the fire department got to ground zero. As the cameras rolled the woman calmly described the touching scene before hand, two men still frantically looking for their fallen comrades after almost a whole days worth of work with no stopping…

"They should be here somewhere…" one of the two whispered to the other, "We've been searching for as long as possible--time is running out!" The second man didn't turn to look at his partner,

"After we get out of these muggles and their line of sight we'll use the wands again," he hissed in a low voice. They hurried over a twisted pile of metal and office furniture and disappeared from the camera's screen.

The anchorwoman smiled brightly, "If only we all could do what those brave men are doing right now… Since 9/11, despite the United States Government's best tactics and the ongoing war in the East, there has been no end in sight to the rising amount of terrorist attacks… It makes the pain easier to bear when we remember the good men, like those behind me, and others in our rescue task force, ready at the sound of the next alarm. Have a safe night, America. And God bless."

Out of sight of the people and their cameras, the two men slipped wands out of their pockets. The wands were similar in appearance, long, silvery handles, and made of wood so dark it looked black. But the bright spotlights still illuminated their spot and other emergency workers were still distantly in view. "Come, quickly--this way!" he pulled the others sleeve and they stealthily made their way to an unlit part of ground zero. His wand was held out ahead, the tip glowing, growing brighter with each step… They walked without tripping and falling through the dark. They didn't seem to notice the dangerous mess of burst electronic lines, small fires and sharp metal. After 20 minutes they came to what they were looking for, "There. We've found it." They had come to a halt in front of a pile of rubble that looked like every other pile of rubble. The first one held his wand aloft, the glowing end of his wand illuminating a small, shining symbol floating over the mound, barely visible to the human eye. The second raised his wand now. "Specialis Revelio!" he whispered, and the mound melted away like ice under hot water.

In an instant, where the rubble was standing there was a silvery pod. A piece of the pod popped off and two men crawled out. They were both in black pinstripe suits, in fair condition though dusty and one had a rip at the shoulder. The older of the two looked around as his eyes adjusted to the relative darkness. He cast a glance at the two firefighters.

"Those are nice looks for you, Henley… O'Brian…" The younger one was apprehensive. He adjusted his glasses and looked down at the rubble around his feet. The one who had greeted them smiled and pulled a wand out, dark like theirs. He carelessly traced his lips with it, looking around, contemplative.

"So this is what our deed accomplished…"

The first man pulled his firefighting helmet off, "Yes sir. This entire complex collapsed. The death count is two thousand and growing. Al Qaeda has taken the credit for the attack, of course."

The contemplative one nodded a little irritably, "Yes… Certainly. Just as they were instructed to do."

"The other flight failed unfortunately-- instead of hitting the intended target it crashed into the sea."

"Shot down?"

"Yes; the Air Force deployed quicker than we expected."

"I should have known better than to leave Lyon in charge. He was barely qualified… Any survivors?"

"None. Neither Lyon nor Echols have been heard from. It was thought that they would simply vanish, but they must have panicked… The crash was too abrupt for them to form a good shield charm."

"Sad. But what they lacked in brains they made up for in disposability."

"True enough. I suggest we get to more secure grounds before we discuss this all further. We have a lot to cover before morning comes, but O'Brian and I are both almost out of polyjuice," he gestured at his face, where the features with slowly warping; the nose turning a little shorter, the eyes getting farther apart. O'Brian was gaining a softer, more feminine face and his curly black hair was growing out longer. "Very well," said the older man, using his wand to vanish the silver pod, "we'll go back to HQ."

And with four loud cracks, lost amongst the sounds of distant sirens, they were gone.


End file.
